


Not So Domestic Bliss (The Let Me Die Remix)

by secondalto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Community: remix_redux, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondalto/pseuds/secondalto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not the way it was supposed to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Domestic Bliss (The Let Me Die Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ennyousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennyousai/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Thirty Snapshots - Less Talk, More Action](https://archiveofourown.org/works/200885) by [ennyousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennyousai/pseuds/ennyousai). 



He doesn’t remember much as he comes to, just finds himself looking at the back of a driver’s seat. Dean is at the wheel, blasting Zeppelin or Kansas or whatever 70s band he’s into at the moment. Sam vaguely recalls what happened. They were debating where to go next when it hit. Blinding pain and then falling.

_Falling; forever falling, holding onto Adam/Lucifer as they plunge deeper into darkness. The cage is there waiting, Sam seeing Dean’s face and knowing he did the right thing._

“You awake?” Dean asks.

He struggles to say something, his mouth dry and gritty. “Yeah, where are we?”

“Don’t worry about that, Sammy, just rest. I’m taking us somewhere safe.”

He wants to protest but fatigue rushes through him. He settles back against the seat, taking inventory. The wall that Death put there is crumbling.

_He’s faced death, but never Death (capital letter implied) but he’s a Winchester, death doesn’t seem to stick. What can Death do to help? He struggles against the restraints as the creepy old dude presses in close._

***

The next time he wakes up, he’s on a bed. It’s not a hotel room. Dean is somewhere, Sam can hear him moving around. The walls are a deep blue, cool and calming. The bed is soft, the curtain on the window drawn. Sam makes to get up, but Dean must have heard him because he’s there in a second.

“You need to stay still, Sammy. Don’t need you falling down again. Too many concussions and….” He leaves the implications hanging there. Too much damage and the wall will be gone forever. And they can’t let that happen. Who knows what evil things lurk behind the mystical wall?

_Blood. Dust. Grandpa Campbell. Hunting something, he doesn’t see what. No regrets, no thinking, just the hunt. And it feels good._

“Here, take this,” Dean says, pressing a pill to Sam’s lips. He wants to protest, but the look in Dean’s eyes gets to him and he dry swallows. Dean guides him back to the bed, waiting for the pill to take effect. When Sam starts to drift, Dean leaves. Sam falls asleep to the sound of a hammer.

***

The last pill ran out a week ago and Dean’s been reluctant to leave his side. No label on the bottle, no way to run to the local Wal-Mart for a refill. But they’ve run low on food. Dean takes his hands and looks him in the eye.

“Gotta get food, Sammy. Stay here. It’s safer, okay?”

He just nods, listening as Dean locks the door behind him. The minute the car is gone, Sam’s up. He’s secreted away some bobby pins he found. The lock gives quickly. Sam doesn’t even bother with shoes, he just runs. Runs and runs and runs until he can’t run anymore.

_The demon is fleeing, but Sam is too fast, too strong. He overcomes it quickly, tackling it to the ground. Knife plunges into heart, sparks flying and the demon fleeing from its human container. Sam gets up and leaves, no regard for the person that was once there. This is his life since the cage._

Dean finds him, saying nothing as he bundles Sam into the car. His face is a mask of disappointment. At the house, he rubs antibiotic cream into Sam’s feet. The words come bubbling up, desperate.

“Don’t trap me here, Dean, please,” he says. “I don’t like being in cages.”

“It’s not a cage, Sam,” snaps Dean. “It’s just a way to keep you safe. We can’t risk anything setting you off.”

He doesn’t run again. Dean would just find him. Where would he go anyway? He knows it will only be a matter of time before everything falls apart.

***

“Dean,” he whispers one bright day. “Dean, you have to let me go.”

His brother doesn’t hear him, or chooses not to. He makes breakfast, asking if he wants a tomato with his eggs. Food doesn’t hold any appeal for him anymore.

_He remembers blood. Thick and hot as he sucks it from Ruby’s arm. The power rushing through him, the familiar weight of her body on his. Food will never live up to that memory._

***

His screams wake him up. The nightmares never let him have a full night’s sleep.

Lucifer. Adam. Michael. Dad. Jess. Mom. Castiel. Ruby. Meg. He sees them all when he closes his eyes. 

Dean climbs in next to him one night and never leaves. Sam doesn’t stop having nightmares. They just don’t make him scream now. They’ve been sharing a bed for four months when a storm rolls in, waking them both. They lay in silence for a while when he speaks.

“Dean, please stop. I want you to stop. I want you to end this, and go find Lisa and Ben. So please. Stop.”

Dean just kisses him. Normal Sam would stop him, push him away and ask what the fuck he was thinking. But he hasn’t been normal in what seems like forever. He just lets Dean kiss him, kissing back as the storm rages on outside.

***

“I could bite through my tongue, you know,” he says one day as Dean is shaving him. Can’t trust Sammy with a blade by himself. No knives or blades, one small mirror Dean keeps hidden. “Or stick my head in the oven. Or throw myself down the stairs. Or –“

“Stop, Sammy, stop.” Dean’s hands are gently as his pushes his head back so they can look each other in the eye. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you anymore, okay? Not even you.”

They both know this is a lie.

***

This is how they spend their days. Dean buys groceries and pays what few bills they have using the rest of the dragon hoard. They sometimes speak of days gone by, but never hunting, it might trigger something. Bobby sometimes calls, but they get less frequent as the months pass. Sam just sits in the kitchen, watching the clouds roll by, listening to Dean’s music coming from the small tape player he bought. 

This is how they will live until the end comes.


End file.
